Fury is Born (Book 1 of Hanthalah)

Chapter 24

          "What did you do?" Mas'oud boomed, hopping over the fence to enter the sheep pen.

"I didn't...I didn't," I stammered, gaping at the flailing sheep.

The sheep was kicking frantically with its legs. Its eyes lolled in its head as it continued to writhe on the ground, frenzied. Mas'oud bent over the flailing sheep, steadying it firm with meaty hands.

"What did you do, you little shit?" he demanded. The sheep bleated. The vigor in its voice waned. "This is how you repay me for feeding you? For keeping you housed?"

I did not know what happened. I knew something was amiss since there was a distinctly unpleasant odor hanging heavy in the air for days. Then this one sheep started writhing like it was possessed.

"Yazid!" Mas'oud cried out. "Yazid, come here!"

The sheep's bleating ceased, and it kicked no more. Its eyes fluttered shut. It lay there limp and motionless as Yazid ibn Mas'oud clambered into the sheep pen. The stench made me wrinkle my nose. But then I winced as my back spasmed.

It had been days since my whipping, but the its effects were being laid bare. They were worse than the actual lashing. My gown was now tattered, as was my tunic. They chafed against my untended wound, and more blood welled from my back as a result of the collision. Every breath was a chore, painful and agonizing beyond words. Walking, straight-backed no less, would have been a miracle.

Yet, I was supposed to see the cattle well fed and watered all the same. The gods only know how that was expected of me without land for grazing. The terrain was entirely unsuitable for sheep herding.

"It's been infected," Yazid concluded, hunched over the dead animal. He cringed away from the carcass, appalled at the pungent smell. "This is fly strike."

"Fly strike?" Mas'oud demanded, incredulous.

"It's the smell of it," Yazid replied. "And the color as well. Look at this patch of green at its hind. Maggots have buried themselves all the way beneath the animal's skin, feeding off the flesh. Then flies leave their eggs on the wool, attracting more maggots."

Mas'oud didn't look like he understood a word of what his son said, but he rose to his feet all the same, furious, glaring at me.

"You slimy little bastard," he wagged a finger at me. "You sabotaged me!"

"How was I supposed to know?"

"You're the slave, not me!" he barked. "Besides, can't you smell the damn thing? Did you not see the green patch?"

"This is poor work on your behalf," Yazid accused me, his eyes hard.

"Poor?" Mas'oud spluttered. "Poor? It's a fucking travesty is what it is. You know what else is a travesty? Do you know? The fact that you'll be going three days without food or water, boy, that's what."

"Maybe if you weren't such an incompetent shepherd, this wouldn't have happened!"

That earned me another backhand.

And he did make good on his promise. I was not afforded a single meal for over three nights.

On the hard, cold floor of the main chamber, I lay huddled against myself, shivering, teeth chittering. My back screamed at me in agony as gusts of wind seeped through the doorway, finding their way into my gaping wounds, unsheltered by cloth or wool. Every breath hurt. It seemed like the slightest of movements opened the wounds again. I lived in fear of the wounds festering, or perhaps of an infection.